True
by empathapathique
Summary: Sometimes, you can't always have what you want. A look into Keiko's life years after Yusuke's left. YK Keikocentric.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own YYH.

**8/15/06** - Removed the song lyrics.

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**True**

Keiko groggily opened her eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of the person in her dreams. She sat up in bed, lids sliding shut as she sleepily rubbed her eyes. And there he was again; brown irises alight with mischief as he gave her a grin.

Keiko smiled sleepily, yawning softly as she stared blearily at her dresser. She blinked again, clearing the last bit of the fuzziness from her vision as she made to get up.

The woman winced as her feet touched the cold wood of the floor, making quick work of finding her slippers to escape the chill. Slipping them on, she made her way over to her door, taking her housecoat off its hook and placing her arms in the sleeves, not bothering to knot the sash. She moved towards her dresser, opening her drawer for clean clothes with one hand as she searched its surface for a hair tie with the other. She placed clean under clothes and a pair of jeans over her shoulder while she continued to search for a hair tie and a shirt. Her hand struck something hard on the dresser, knocking it backwards.

Keiko stopped her searching, looking up to see what she'd knocked over. She pulled her hand out of the drawer she had been rummaging through, using it to pick up the fallen picture frame. She smiled at the cocky imaging staring back at her.

"Good morning, Yusuke."

The woman stared at the picture for a moment, a fond smile tugging at her lips as she traced the profile of the masculine face in the picture with the tip of a nail. Yusuke…

She could feel that familiar longing well up in her again. Yusuke… Kami, _Yusuke_. She just… she missed him so much.

The smile began to falter, and Keiko replaced the frame in its spot while she hurriedly pulled a tee shirt from her drawer, slamming it shut.

The picture fell again.

Keiko started at the sound, eyes snapping to the face in the picture as she felt her pulse jump. A shiver ran down her spine, her mouth going dry as she stared at his face.

Keiko shook her head at her silliness, a small, incongruous smile on her lips. What was wrong with her? She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand as she once again picked up the fallen picture frame with the other.

"Sorry about that," she whispered softly, giving the image an apologetic smile. He wasn't even here yet he was still reminding her to buck up—to smile. It wasn't always easy, but she tried. Kami, no one could _ever_ say she didn't try.

But when it got too hard, and she felt she was about to break, Yusuke would always be there. It was as if he felt her despair. And he'd be there, his presence embodied in her friends, pictures, memories. She'd be reminded of him, of what he would've wanted for her. And then she'd be okay.

The bathroom door made a slight creaking noise as she closed it, a reminder to Keiko to oil its hinges sometime in the near future. She placed her clean clothes on a small stool in the corner of the room and began to strip; exposing a new expanse of skin with every garment she took off. Once she was bare, she walked over to the mirror, sepia orbs inspecting her reflection as she frowned. Kami, she was so _fat_. Keiko's hands moved over the small pouch of flab protruding from her middle—flab that had been there for years. Her hands moved down to her thickening thighs, smiling triumphantly at the softness her skin still possessed. Keiko moved a bit closer to the mirror, eyebrow twitching at the new strand of gray hair that had appeared in her bangs over night. She pulled it out without mercy. She knew it would be back—and with a vengeance—however, she consoled herself with the fact that at least for today she'd be gray free. Jeez. The things you had to go through when you got old…

Keiko's frowned deepened at the thought. Old. She didn't like the word. It's what she was now, though—old. Later on today, she and her friends would celebrate her thirty-seventh birthday. She understood now why women lied about their age—it was just so depressing! She was thirty-seven, fat, graying and alone. Kami, she felt like she needed a drink.

Keiko sighed, walking over to the tub to turn on the shower. She waited for the water to warm, stepping inside the steamy curtain once it had. Thirty-seven years since she was born today, sixteen since he left tomorrow. Keiko looked down at her feet, letting the scorching water pound down on her neck and hair. The burning feeling was a welcome sensation amongst the familiar pangs in her chest. She turned around to face the spray, letting the water send little shots of pain through her skin. Kami, sixteen years. She could hardly believe it herself.

And yet, in a way, she could.

All of the memories were there. Keiko could remember everything; the tears, sleepless nights, loneliness. The anguish she felt at their separation, the searing pain of her broken heart once she realized he wasn't coming back. Keiko remembered it all—remembered it well. And, some days, it made going on even harder.

It was just so _lonely_ sometimes. She some friends—_real_ friends—however the majority of the people she knew were fake. Nothing was as it'd been before. No matter how much time had passed, people still looked at her with the same sad eyes, shaking their heads in sympathy. Compassion was apart of human nature, however Keiko hated how they viewed her as if she were a kicked puppy or something of the sort. Those people—those people who thought they knew—didn't know a thing.

They couldn't figure them out. When people had looked at them together, they had always seen two different kinds of people—the good kind, and the bad kind. But a heart doesn't see the difference that separate two souls on the outside. It only sees what's within. And between Yusuke and Keiko there was a magnetic attraction, something that drew them together so tightly that it was impossible to separate one from the other without taking a part of both.

Her parents had called it puppy love; her teachers a passing crush. It wouldn't—_couldn't_—last long. They were too different. Yet it had, and even in death, Keiko continued to love him. It wasn't normal. They didn't understand the woman, and they didn't understand her reasons—just as they hadn't understood her and Yusuke.

They simply pitied her, shaking their heads at how wrapped up she was in a man that she continued to believe that he was going to return. They were wrong, though. Keiko had no delusions about Yusuke returning. She would have liked to believe that he would—for a while, she had. But when it happened, she knew—she felt it. She still did. Yusuke was dead. No hoping would change that.

The thought was just too much sometimes. Yusuke. Her Yusuke. The Yusuke she'd taken care of as a child, worried about as a teen, waited for as a young adult. She'd loved him so long she couldn't remember _not_ loving him, a fact which hadn't changed in his absence. She felt so much for him that it hurt to keep it all inside, a hurt she'd been experiencing with growing ferocity over the years since he'd gone. It wouldn't go away, either. She'd love Yusuke Urameshi till the day she died, and would feel the acute pain of his death until then, too.

He'd been the focus of her life for so long, Keiko hadn't know how to go on without him there at first. Even when he was off fighting some bad guy, her focus point had always been Yusuke. She hadn't know who she was without him. When Keiko wasn't with him, it felt as if something was missing. His love helped to sustain her. Without it, it felt as if she wasn't getting enough to eat, drink, sleep.

Everyone always tried to tell her what Yusuke would've wanted for her—that he would've wanted her to lead a happy, normal life and move on. Sure, he wanted that, but he wanted that with _him._ Yusuke was a selfish man, something which he wasn't ashamed to admit. He loved her too much to share—no matter _how _much that small, rational portion of his brain whispered that it would be best for her to move on. Keiko was his, and she reveled in the knowledge. Whether she'd be with him again or not, there was no moving on from what she'd had with Yusuke. Nothing could compare to that feeling she got when she was with him. No one could have her under their complete control with a look, or leave her breathless and weak with a kiss, or nearly pull her into themselves while wrapped in an intimate embrace. No one but Yusuke.

That's why she'd never date anyone else. No one could live up to her standard—one especially constructed by and for one, Yusuke Urameshi. It was pointless for another man to even _hope_ to take his place. It was impossible. She'd be wasting both her time and theirs if she allowed them to try.

Keiko sighed, turning her face away from the spray of the water. She grabbed her washcloth and squeezed on a generous amount of shower gel, beginning to automatically go through the process of bathing. She imagined what he would say if he could see her now—thirty-seven and graying, running her parents ramen shop on her own. What would he think? Would he be pleased with the way things had turned out for her? Would he wish they were different?

_Of course he would,_ she told herself as she rinsed the soap from her skin. _He'd want to be here._

Keiko had only been in love once, however, she knew for certain that what she had with Yusuke was more than just love. It went deeper than that—_much_ deeper. Language didn't have a word for what they shared, and it probably never would. It could only be expressed by looks, touches. A kiss. You had to _see_ it, to _feel_ it, to _experience_ it. It was inexplicable—unexplainable. And rarer than the rarest and most precious gemstones in the world.

Yusuke didn't just love her. He _possessed_ her. It was in more than just a materialistic sense, but in a deeper, darker one. He owned her heart—her soul—the way people owned cars, or jewelry. Only he coveted his possessions far more than mortals did theirs. He'd invaded her soul, a part of himself taking root deep within her core and remaining with her everywhere she went. Even now, years since she had seen him or felt him or touched him or Kami, heard his _voice,_ it was still the same. And while it hurt and she was lonely and she was tired, Keiko didn't mind one bit.

When a loved one dies, you're expected to mourn and then swiftly move on, jumping back into your previous routine and trying to make things go back to normal. But things _can't_ be normal. Someone's died. They're gone—forever. How do you deal with that?

How do you move on from love? How do you move on from feeling for someone so totally and completely that they own everything you are? How, when they're gone, do you continue? Do you forget, and just keep going until it's your turn to go, too?

Keiko shut off the tap, shivering slightly as she stepped into the cooler air outside of the shower curtain. There was no moving on. And, if the love was deep—if it was real, _true_—there was no forgetting it, either. All there was—all there _could be_—was acceptance. And, once you realized that they were gone, that they were never coming back, the hardest part began. Because then you had to _deal_ with it. People had told her that it was from here that she was to move on, but Keiko couldn't. She refused to let go of Yusuke. He was as much hers as she was his. Their time had been cut too short as it was, and Keiko was determined to hold on to him for as long as she could.

That, she supposed, was why she was here where she was today.

She was waiting.

It was irrational and even stupid because he was dead—had been so for nearly fifteen years. And she, though fat and graying and thirty-seven, was still so very young. She had her whole life ahead of her, and yet she was determined to wait for the one man she'd never be able to have, to hold, in this lifetime again.

She was waiting for death.

She'd decided to spend her life as an outcast of sorts, looking on at the diverse romantic relationships of those around her, knowing that she'd never be able to experience those things again. It was masochistic—foolish—and yet, she would. Because Yusuke, despite all the pain, the sorrow, the anguish, he'd brought her, he'd given her so much more. He'd given her all the time that he could, and love and memories that would sustain her for the rest of her time here—until they could be together once again. And, for Keiko, that was enough.

She didn't need anymore, and, though she wished he were here, she asked of no more from him than she'd already received. She was grateful for all that she had, and willing to wait to receive and eternity of so much more.

Keiko dried her body quickly and dressed, hurriedly making her way down to the family shop which she now ran. It may have been her birthday, however that didn't give her an excuse not to work. Maybe if Yusuke was around, she'd close up for the day—because as he'd _make_ her—however, seeing as he wasn't, Keiko decided to allow her more hardworking qualities free reign. Besides, wherever he was, it was always good to make him scowl.

The woman peeked out the kitchen window, taking in the range of pinks and blues and yellow coloring the early morning sky. She sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at her lips. It may not have been everything she wanted, but, in a way, this was enough. She wrapped her arms around herself, listening to the sounds of the early city morning. And she could feel him, almost as if he was here with her now, his arms—his entire _being_—wrapped around her, his head bent low as he pressed his lips to her cheek. Just as he had so many times before.

_Yes_, she thought, _this is enough. _

Because it was. For now, this was enough.

-fin

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**Author's Note:** While not my first oneshot (my others are not posted on this site for good reasoning –cough- they're lemons –cough cough-), this is my first song fic (although I doubt if that's really an apt definition for it now, seeing as I had to remove the song lyrics because the site doesn't allow them to be used). I'd declared myself inept at writing song fics awhile ago, but I just got Celine Dion's greatest hits and this song just touched me so much. I actually cried. I've heard it before and all, but still…

I've been so out of everything lately—I haven't written anything in months. I don't have the drive for it that I used to. I wrote this fic in two sittings (I started one Friday night in November, left it alone for a month, and finished it today.) I'm not sure if it's because I'm lazy, or I just don't like writing, but hopefully we'll soon find out.

Anyway, thanks for reading!


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